


Rana's Rambles

by ArielOfAutumn



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drinking Games, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Randomness, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 19:37:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14119437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArielOfAutumn/pseuds/ArielOfAutumn
Summary: This will be a collection of short stories, lost chapters, drabbles, diary entries, and who knows what else from my mainfic Revelations and Reconciliation.I have a whole folder of ideas and random little scenes jotted down that never made it into the story for one reason or another, mostly due to time and to cut down on word bloat as much as possible, so I'm putting them here. A lot of them will expand on the story prior to the first chapter, some will probably conflict with the story as it is now, and others won't really have a place within it at all.Mostly humorous, and completely random, these will be added over time as I either come up with them or polish and post what's already written.





	1. Arachnophobia

**Author's Note:**

> This little scene takes place a couple months prior to Chapter One of RnR. Our heroes have just taken up temporary residence in The Tankard Tree Inn of Saradush when Sarevok is called upon to aid Rana with a troublesome visitor.

**Arachnophobia**

 

A shrill, piercing scream that threatened to shatter the windows, along with his nerves, had Sarevok reacting instinctually. Drawing his sword, he rushed down the hallway of the inn, toward that unholy banshee cry, expecting to find the one emitting the godawful sound to be under attack at best, or being torn apart at worst. 

Something barreled into him, slamming into his chest hard enough that he had to throw out a hand against the wall to steady himself. The something then proceeded to try and  _ climb  _ him, all the while pleading hysterically with him, the gods, and everything in between.

_ “Kill it! Kill it with fire! Oh my gods, oh my gods, KILL IT, PLEASE!” _

When Ilyrana's bare foot slipped from its perch on his belt as she attempted to scale him to get atop his shoulders, to get away from whatever  _ “it”  _ was, and she kicked him in the groin trying to find purchase, he grabbed her around her middle and pried her off of him.

_ “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU-” _

_ “KILL IT!” _ She screamed over him, loud enough that his ears started ringing, twisting out of his grip and ducking behind his sword arm, then shoving against him with surprising strength considering her size.  _ “It's in there! Kill it, PLEASE!” _

Her terrified pleas, and her persistent pushing, goaded him into moving forward against his will, toward her room that she'd come tearing out of, and it irritated him that her fear affected him this way. Even as he took a small amount of pleasure at seeing her this scared.

When he stood in her room, sword poised to kill the intruder, and saw nothing, his irritation turned into fury.

“What are you playing at, girl?! There's nothing in here!”

Ilyrana scrambled up onto her dresser just behind him.

_ “THERE!”  _ She shrieked, making him flinch, and pointing over his shoulder toward her bed.

Atop the dingy sheets of the inn’s bed sat a black and green spider. Its bulbous body was the size of his head, its eight spindly legs nearly as long as his arm. It sat unmoving, unperturbed by the reaction garnered by its presence, its mandibles clicking together gently as it cleaned them.

Sarevok briefly lost the ability of speech. 

The young woman who’d faced him down after fighting off assassins, hobgoblins, Flaming Fist, and his inner circle was terrified of a spider. The same woman who was graced with Bhaal's avatar, the Slayer. The same woman who, just hours ago, had been detailing her plan to assault an immortal half-giant with confidence that bordered on arrogance. That  _ same woman  _ now crouched, trembling on a dresser after just enthusiastically recruiting him for pest control. 

_ Him.  _ The man who bribed her for a piece of her recently retrieved soul. Then proceeded to take half of it instead. Because he could. The same man that she now cowered behind, using him as her sword and shield against a harmless eight-legged foe that was probably the sole reason this ramshackle place wasn't infested with rats.

Slowly, he turned his head to look at her. She gazed back with owl-eyes that darted from him to the spider and back again with the same repetitiveness as the seconds ticking away on a clock.

“Please,” she whispered softly, looking so pitiful that he almost,  _ almost,  _ felt sorry for her plight.

“Kill it yourself, or sweet talk a more chivalrous fool to do it for you. I did not claw my way out of Hell to squash bugs for you.”

“I'll owe you a favor.”

That gave him pause. 

A dozen different questions he could finally have answers to flashed through his mind. Along with items of power they would inevitably acquire during this journey that he could request she give him as his due for this little task. 

Releasing an annoyed sigh, he turned back to the creature and hefted his sword.

“Not on the bed!” She cried when he raised his weapon.

Grinding his teeth in frustration at the utter ridiculousness of this situation, he swatted at the thing with the flat of his blade, forcing it to skitter away, down the sheets and onto the floor. Swiftly, before it could wedge itself somewhere he'd have to wrangle it out of, he plunged his sword down through its back, impaling it. 

Jerking his weapon out of the wood and its ichor-oozing body, he snatched up a discarded towel and used it to wipe the gore off the steel.

“Is it dead?” She whispered at his ear as she planted her hands on one of his shoulders and leaned over him to look, balancing with her feet on the dresser behind them.

Her recently washed hair, left loose, tumbled down his chest as she leaned further out to reassure herself the thing no longer moved. Her unique scent, jasmine and orchids, washed over him, and coupled with her sudden nearness, made him go still.

“Can you dispose of its corpse?” She asked, still whispering for some reason.

“Do I look like your maid?!” He demanded.

“Please?”

“It'll cost you another favor,” he growled, wanting to be done with this, and away from her, despite the fact he hadn't moved, allowing her to perch on him like this.

“Fine. Whatever. I just don't wanna touch its gross body.”

Shaking his head at the woman's willingness to indebt herself to him over something like this, he finally rolled his shoulder, signalling for her to get off him so he could carry out her request. When she pushed off to crouch back down on the dresser, he leaned down and pinched one of its legs between his thumb and forefinger. As he lifted it off the ground, its leg detached, the body plopping back down with a  _ squelching  _ sound. The sound of gagging could be heard behind him.

After picking it up by its body and tossing it out the open window of her bedroom, along with the discarded limb, he turned around to look at her, one eyebrow raised, silently asking her if she required anything further. In exchange for even more future favors, of course.

Almost too fast to follow, she dropped from the dresser and surged to the window, shutting and latching it smoothly in one movement. Standing on tiptoe, she gazed down to make sure the spider was now only a smear on the cobblestones below the two story establishment. After scanning the skies as well, as if suddenly afraid that Yaga-Shura’s catapults were launching spiders instead of flaming boulders, she turned around to look at him. 

Giving him a relieved, sheepish smile, the first genuine one she'd ever directed at him, he found himself growing even more annoyed than before by the sight of it. Or rather, the effect it had on him.

“Anything else?” He grumbled, looking away. “Or shall I check under your bed for more?”

She blinked at him, slow to realize he was teasing, almost as slow as he was to realize it, too. 

“No. I mean, unless you want to. It won't earn you anymore favors though.”

“Then I'm done here,” he replied, brushing past her as he headed for the door.

“Thanks,” she called after him a few seconds later. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me  _ two!”  _ He corrected her over his shoulder. _ “And don't scream like that again unless you're dying!” _

 


	2. Drinking Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set sometime during Shadows of Amn, Valygar and Rana play a drinking game. And Valygar learns the hard way that alcohol plus a crafty bhaalspawn equals trouble.

**Drinking Games**

 

“Hah! Take another shot!” Rana crowed when the cards played in her favor, suspiciously, yet again.

Valygar forced back the whimper trying to rise up out of him as he watched the merciless elven woman pour another shot of firewhiskey and slide it toward him.

“You're cheating,” he slurred, reaching for the shot glass, missing it, trying again, failing once more, then finally grabbing it up with both hands, sloshing some of it across the table, and managing to get some of it into his mouth and the rest down his shirt.

“Prove it,” she chirped happily, both of them knowing he couldn't.

“Stop being so blurry and I'll catch you at it.”

“I'm not blurry, you're just that drunk, love. Now, who's turn is it to deal? Mine?”

“No, is mine. Cheater.”

Fumbling with the deck of cards, he shut one eye so he could focus on shuffling without dropping too many of them.

The inn they were staying at, he couldn't remember the name of it or even which city they were currently watering themselves in, was boisterous, with neighboring tables filled with other rowdy card and dice players.

Earlier in the night, there had been a delightful gnomish couple that had shown them the game they were currently playing. He'd held his own fairly well until they departed, when Rana suddenly began dominating the game and he soon lost track of how many bottles of firewhiskey he'd been forced to consume after all the losses.

Dealing the cards, with one eye still shut for clarity purposes, he tried to formulate a strategy that would finally beat her.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” she sniggered, drumming her fingers on the table as she took a few swallows of her ale. “I hope, whatever it is, that it's effective. I'm tired of being the only sober one in this bar.”

“Okay then, Rana, if I win this round, you have to drink _two entire bottles_ of firewhiskey. That should catch you up.”

“Hmm… and if _I_ win? I'm afraid if I bet anymore shots you'll fall over and die of alcohol poisoning.”

“Then bet something other than shots, woman!” He nearly shouted, half begging her to have mercy on him. “I'll do pretty much anything. Hells, I'll play the rest of the night naked if you win, just no more shots. _Please.”_

The wicked gleam in her eyes had him scrambling to remember what just came out of his mouth.

“Deal.”

“Wait, what I say?”

Fanning her cards out in her hand and rearranging their order, she glanced over them and winked at him.

“You win, I drink two bottles of your nasty firewhiskey. I win, you gotta get naked.”

“That's what I said?”

“Mmhmm. Your turn,” she replied after making a move and discarding.

“Well, it's hot in here and I'll probably never see any of these people ever again anyway,” he muttered to himself, drawing a card and squinting closely at his hand.

Rana raised an amused eyebrow but said nothing, patiently waiting for him to finish his turn.

“Okay, now move slowly. So I can see it when you cheat.”

Rana obeyed, chuckling as she moved with sloth-like precision, drawing a new card, studying her hand, then painstakingly laying two of them down before drawing another. With all the speed of a glacier, she eventually discarded and grinned at him to indicate it was his turn.

His next move was a good one, and he found himself smirking as he felt victory nearing. The mental image of her grimacing while she chugged the firewhiskey she loathed so much making him feel giddy.

Her next move was terrible, and he began to wonder if she was going to try and lose on purpose, if only so she could revel in inebriation with him.

“Got you now, baby Bhaal,” he chortled, confident his next move would be the winning one when he saw her frown at her hand during her turn.

“'Baby Bhaal’?” She laughed, discarding then looking up in time to watch him win.

 _“GOLDFISH!”_ He roared triumphantly, slamming the last of his cards on the table and staggering to his feet, both fists raised in victory, all eyes in the bar now on him.

Peals of unrestrained, hysterical laughter made him open his eyes and give Rana a questioning look. The smaller woman clutched her stomach as she sat, hunched over, laughing so hard now that barely any sound came out of her.

“Whasofunny? Why you laughing?”

“Because… oh gods… because we haven't been… playing Goldish… for the past two hours!” She gasped out in between guffaws.

Valygar felt like someone had just yanked the rug out from under him.

“That's why I've been losing? We've been playing two different games?”

_“Yes!”_

_“Why didn't you say anything?!”_

“Because you were too drunk to realize it! I would tell you I won a round and you would just take the shot, no arguing. Oh gods, this is great.”

Plopping back down in his chair, he pointed an accusatory finger at her.

“Then, because you admit to cheating, this last round doesn't count!”

“Sorry, lad, it doesn't quite work that way,” a dwarf at the table beside them said. “If you weren't realizing you was being bamboozled by yon elf, that's yer own fault. We all heard yer bet. You lost, by reason o’ not paying attention to which game y'all agreed to play. Now, be a man and accept yer fate. Don't worry, it's nothin’ we ain't all seen before!”

Valygar suddenly remembered the terms of him losing. His only comforting thought was he was unlikely to remember this night, and he'd just make sure never to travel through this city again.

“Come on, Valygar, show us the goods!” One of the barmaids cried, rousing the bar to laughter.

Wait… how did she know his name?

“Aye, ranger, if your arse is even prettier bare than it is in that tight leather, you won't owe me rent next month!” A man hollered.

As Valygar met Rana's eyes, the elf laughing so hard now she had tears running down her face, he suddenly remembered they weren't in a city at all.

They were at the inn.

In the Umar Hills.

A quarter mile from his cabin that he rented.

And these were the people he mingled with as he protected them from trolls and other baddies.

Because he was their ranger.

Taking another bracing shot of firewhiskey, Valygar rose as gracefully to his feet as he could manage in his condition.

To the tune of some bawdy song that Rana had started singing, and the crowds swiftly joining in, he cast the elf a wink and began stripping.

For the rest of the night, drinking free drinks and enjoying more female, and male, attention than he'd ever had in his life, he swore to himself that he'd never drink with her again.

Or, at least, he'd make sure he knew which game he was supposed to be playing.

Maybe.


	3. Wedding Crashers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ilyrana runs into an old friend while struggling with the aftermath of having her soul ripped out by Irenicus. Death, mayhem, drunkenness, and sexual tension abound.
> 
> *This is the story of why Ilyrana was banned from the Den of Seven Vales, mentioned in Chapter 17 of the main story.*

“Elf. Over here.”

The gravelly voice from the shadows caught Ilyrana's attention, and she stopped, her eyes flickering red as she used her Infravision to see who addressed her. As she took in the towering form of the heavily armored half-orc, her hands came to rest on the hilts of her short swords.

“The fuck are you?” She asked, bracing for a confrontation.

He'd picked the wrong woman to hunt tonight. Without her soul to lend her fear for her life, or a conscience to weigh against the use of inordinate amounts of violence, she was, in a lot of ways, far more powerful than she'd ever been right now.

And, in many other ways, far weaker.

“Do you not recognize who I am, Ilyrana of Candlekeep? Or must I jog your memory somehow?”

As he stepped forward, the light of a roaring nearby brazier illuminating his face, she relaxed.

Slightly.

“Dorn Il-Khan. It's been awhile.”

“It has. You look… different, from last I saw you. Truth be told, I did not expect to see you alive again after your half-brother cut you nearly in twain.”

The memory he spoke of was fuzzy. As many of them were fast becoming. Each day that Irenicus held her soul, her former life became a little dimmer. She would have been saddened by that if there wasn't so much she wouldn't mind forgetting. And she would have been afraid, if she could remember how to be.

“Yeah, well, you bailed quickly enough after that fight that I suppose it's not surprising you'd thought I died.”

“Ur-gothoz demanded I leave you, you understand. I told you when I joined with you that his will overshadowed yours.”

“Of course. I hold no ill will for your departure,” she replied, and meant it. “What brings you to Athkatla?”

“What else? I have a new target.”

The blackguard’s dark eyes drifted over her shoulder, to the hall of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart. Ilyrana's eyebrows shot up with mild interest.

“I hope you're not seeking Keldorn Firecam, Dorn. 'Cause if you are, this reunion is about to be cut short.”

Her gloved hands caressed her sword hilts as she shifted her weight. All of her companions were at the nearby inn. Facing him alone would be a fight she wouldn't attempt if she wasn't being slowly devoured by the taint. But because she was, her eyes flickered as the siren’s song of her blood called to her, and she was ready to answer it.

“Fire _cam_? No, Ilyrana, Ur-gothoz has not bade me to kill this one you speak of. Yet, anyway. Hmm… you have changed. I do not recall your fury to be this easily summoned.”

“Much has changed.”

“Yes… I can see that,” he rumbled, looking her over with approval. “The one I seek is called Bollard Firejaw. He is within that building, and I have been studying its defenders while waiting for it to be dark enough to enter without bringing this entire city down upon me. If he is not also under your protection, I would extend you an invitation in joining me. I remember you being quite the capable fighter.”

Ilyrana perked up at that. Murder was the only thing that seemed to interest her lately. And vengeance. But then, those two usually went hand in hand.

“You have my attention.”

* * *

 

Ilyrana plopped down on the bench beside Dorn, counting the coins she'd just finished looting from the bodies that now littered the hall.

“Ah, I have missed you, bhaalspawn. Had you not come along, I would have waited for Firejaw to be alone and taken his life then. With you at my side, however, even the guards and the rabble of the wedding party could not stop us.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, examining the diamond ring she'd pried off the bride's finger. “It was fun. We should do this again sometime.”

“Indeed. Tell me, what are you doing this far from home? And where is the red haired one that used to shadow you everywhere?”

Something stirred in her chest at his questions. A memory. Many memories.

“She and the others are at an inn. I don't sleep very well these days so I was out for a walk when I stumbled upon you. As for why I'm here… let's just say that someone took something very precious from me, from Imoen and I both, and I'm looking to get it back.”

“He must be quite the foe if he stole from you and still draws breath.”

Ilyrana pocketed her loot and leaned back in the bench, crossing her legs and looking out at the sea of blood and death before them. In the morning, when the knights came to do their business, or the staff came to begin their daily chores, expecting to clean up after a late night wedding, they would be in for one hell of a shock. She briefly debated sticking around in the shadows to watch their faces.

The half-orc finished removing his breastplate so that he could clean the gore from it, and Ilyrana found herself following the lines of muscle rippling beneath the padding and tunic. He was impressively large, more so than all pure human males, certainly more than her kind, and only slightly less than a true orc.

_No… not_ **_all_ ** _human males. There was another armored warrior with a similar build. And with the same kind of bloodlust._

Her thoughts were interrupted by Dorn’s notice of her perusal of his form.

“See something you like, bhaalspawn?”

Tilting her head thoughtfully, she gave his question some consideration.

“Perhaps. Though I can't decide what I wish to do about it.”

“Hmm… do let me know if you make up your mind.”

Her gaze was drawn from Dorn's ruggedly handsome face to several casks of honeymead lining the nearby wall. A wedding present perhaps. A pity to let that kind of stuff go to waste…

Looking back into the blackguard's eyes, she smiled absently as an idea struck her.

“Dorn… fancy a celebratory drink?... Or two?”

* * *

 

Ilyrana was slow to wake, her head pounding a merciless staccato that made the room shift and sway with each forceful beat. She was freezing, but sticky with sweat. When she tried to rise, her eyes still closed against the dizziness, she had to peel herself off the delightfully warm chest she had been sleeping on.

Blearily, she opened her eyes, a little at a time, ready to squeeze them back shut if the room tried to girate some more. Looking down, she saw the ashen, scarred skin of Dorn, rising and falling in sleep.

Waking up beside an evil half-orc blackguard would have deeply troubled her in the past, but on this morning, she found herself mostly just confused. She still wore her smallclothes, and she was sore, but not in the places one would expect. Oh, and her boots were somehow still on.

Gently extricating herself from the heavy arm thrown over her, and taking a few scratches from those claws of his for her efforts, Ilyrana stumbled out of the bed, clutching the nightstand to keep herself upright as the room tilted wildly beneath her feet.

“Leaving so soon?”

Ilyrana looked up to see Dorn stirring, sitting up and rubbing his head.

“Did we have sex?” She asked him outright, having no patience to dance around the topic.

Dorn huffed out a laugh, then turned to swing his legs over the side of the bed, affording her a distracting view. And answered her question.

“Trust me, Ilyrana, if we had, you would know.”

Turning to find her clothes, still pretty confused about everything else, she noticed the man still asleep in the bed, on the other side of Dorn. Dorn saw her notice.

“After you got us kicked out of the Den of Seven Vales, and we came next door to this place, I lost track of you. Woke up sometime in the early morning with you crawling into bed with us. I figured you must be cold since you misplaced your clothes.”

“Great. Do you know where they could be?”

“I would assume still hanging from the ceiling fan in the Den of Seven Vales.”

“Why would they… nevermind. Who's he?” She asked, gesturing to the snoring man.

“No idea. I took him to bed with me but I either forgot his name or never bothered to ask.”

“Huh. Well, I'm gonna go see if I can find my clothes.”

“I wouldn't if I were you. Return to the Den, that is.”

“Why?”

“After you stole some dwarf’s axe, and used it to behead a man who claimed to be a Cowled Wizard out for a drink, Amnian soldiers arrived to investigate. Luckily, no one within the inn particularly cared for Cowled Wizards, so they didn't give you up. Except, you became rather upset by the fact that that meant not fighting the guards, so you began brandishing that axe and demanding someone fight you. Some poor bard, I can't recall his name, though he seemed familiar, tried to calm you down, but made the mistake of touching you in your half-naked state and you went berserk. After carving him to pieces in front of the entire establishment, the owner called the guards back, forcing us to relocate before being apprehended.”

_I really need to quit drinking._

“Wait… a bard, you said?”

“Mmm, irritating fellow. Had the attention of nearly all the females thanks to that silver tongue of his.”

“Was his name Eldoth?”

“Something like that. I remember him from last I travelled with you, he joined you for a time.”

_Oops._

“So… he's dead? Like _dead_ dead?”

“Unless someone managed to stitch him back up in time to pull a resurrection off.”

Ilyrana sighed and reached down to pick up Dorn’s discarded tunic. Slipping it over her head, she frowned at the brown blood stains that covered it, but was satisfied with the length of it, it hit just the tops of her knee-high boots, so she decided to keep it.

“I'll be needing that back, elf.”

“Take his,” she said, jerking her chin at the sleeping man. “I can't walk back to the Temple District in nought but my underthings.”

Dorn sighed and began to dress, stealing his one night stand’s shirt off the floor and checking to make sure his gear was intact after their drunken binge.

“You gonna hang around Amn for awhile?” She asked him, snatching up her sword belt that hung beside Rancor, happy to see that he'd managed to save her weapons from the Den, if not her clothing.

“No, I have business elsewhere.”

“Pity. I could use you.”

“You mentioned last night that you have someone from the Order of the Radiant Heart in your party. I would think he would take offense to my presence.”

“Two, in fact. And since when do you care if your presence offends anyone?”

“I don't. I'm merely curious as to why you would invite trouble upon yourself. Which, now that I think of it, is a foolish thing to wonder. You not only invite trouble, you welcome it in open, drunken arms.”

“Part of my charm,” she sighed, braiding her hair over her shoulder.

Dorn snorted and began buckling on his armor.

“Perhaps, when I have seen to my next task, and Ur-gothoz does not demand anything else right away, I will come find you.”

“You do that. I could use all the help I can get right now.”

“I don't recall you telling me what was stolen from you.”

Ilyrana shrugged a hooded cloak over her, the still sleeping man’s she assumed, and looked up at the half-orc.

“My soul.”

* * *

 

“And I'll be damned if that little bitch didn't grab Kagain’s axe and take off that Cowled One's head in one clean stroke. Didn't think elves had that kind of strength, especially one that runty. Got demon's blood in her veins, I'll reckon. Coulda sworn her eyes glowed, but that might just be the Bitter Black talking.”

“Huh. That sounds a little far-fetched,” Ilyrana replied to the assistant barkeeper as she helped herself to her clothes, standing atop a barstool to get them down from the ceiling fan.

“I know it do. But I swear on Waukeen's gold it's the truth. Say, whatcha gonna do with them clothes?”

“Huh? Oh, well, they look to be my size, figured I'd take em off your hands and your fan.”

“Humph, yeah, you ain't much bigger than she was, I suppose,” the man grumbled, tilting his head at her from behind the bar.

His sudden attention made her nervous, so she pulled her hood down a little lower over her face. She wanted to get her things and leave before he realized who he was gossiping to.

“Say, you said that dwarf’s name was Kagain?”

“Aye, that be it. Nasty tempered thing he was. Onliest time I seen him so much as smile is when yon elf butchered that poor bard, then handed him back his axe and thanked him for letting him use it. Got the feeling they knew each other. All three of them. And that giant half-orc bastard. I thought him’s the one who'd be giving us the trouble, not that tiny little elf. Shows ya not to judge a book by its cover.”

“Mmm,” she replied, hiding a smile, while she dropped from the stool with her clothes. “Hey, do you know how her clothes ended up here in the first place?”

“Sure do. Her and that half-orc were playing a drinking game with that poor bard, afore she tore him to pieces, mind you, and she kept losing. Had to remove articles of clothing after each round, and the half-orc thought it was funny to put em outta reach.”

_That asshole. Seriously need to quit drinking._

“Now, what if that demon elf comes alooking for her stuff? I don't wanna have to be the one to tell her I let someone come and take em.”

Ilyrana stopped by the bar on her way to the door and saw the parchment posted with a drawing of her likeness along with the words “DO NOT SERVE” scrawled beneath it. Drawing her hood back, she smiled as the man's eyes widened to the size of saucers.

“I don't think she'll be back anytime soon. And if she does decide to visit one day, she might look kindly upon its bartender for gifting her with a few bottles of port when he allowed her to retrieve her things.”

The man was stupid, so she gave him a minute to understand what it was she was implying. When it finally clicked into place, she coughed away a chuckle as he scrambled together three bottles of port and set them on the bar.

Grabbing them up, she winked at him and departed.

“Much obliged. Cheers!”

  
  



	4. Suspension of Disbelief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Rana and company set up camp outside the Marching Mountains, stopping to rest as they search for Yaga Shura's stronghold, Sarevok finds out something hilarious from Rana's past. And that's just the beginning of the evening.

**Suspension of Disbelief**

 

“And how  _ did  _ the paladin come by such a blade?”

Ilyrana gave an irritable glance up at Sarevok. Every time he did this, carried on a conversation with her for more than a minute, it led to a sudden and unexplainable outburst. One second they would be talking, if not amiably than at least with minimal snarling, then the next there would be glowing eyes and threats. They'd just about reached their threshold of reluctant banter, and she really wasn't in the mood for the other shoe to drop and her evening to be ruined.

“That's a story I really don't wanna get into right now,” she replied gruffly, picking up her pace as she headed toward a lone tree in the distance, then sighing as he easily kept up with her.

She was one of the ones on watch tonight, and she'd be damned if she spent it trying to dance around his temper while simultaneously keeping an eye out for Fire Giants.

“Why? Or are you trying to dismiss me because you just realized we're half a mile from camp and any help should I decide to take advantage of the situation?”

_ And here we go. _

“You are literally the least scariest thing around, Sarevok. Hope that doesn't hurt your feelings. I know how much you pride yourself on that.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. Answer my question and I'll leave you be.”

_ Well, since you asked so nicely. _

“Fine. You have to promise you won't laugh, though.”

His taken aback expression almost made her smile. Blindsiding him, in any way, shape, or form, was fast becoming one of her favorite hobbies.

“You have my word,” he sneered. “Now, tell me how Keldorn found Carsomyr.”

Reaching the tree, she stifled her irritation that the lowest branch was too high to get to without assistance, which she would  _ not  _ be asking for. Leaning against the trunk, she withdrew her flask and took a few bracing swallows.

“All right. So… there was this dragon, right? And- hey, give that back!”

Ilyrana jumped, trying to reach her flask that Sarevok had just swiped. He merely raised an eyebrow at her while he finished its contents before handing it back to her.

“You ass! Now how am I supposed to finish talking to you without being able to reward myself for making it through each sentence without being abrasive?”

“I have faith in your desire to be rid of me.”

_ “Take me with you, Ilyrana. Think of how powerful we'll be together. Blah blah blah.” Why did I ever think I could put up with this? _

“Fine. So, some time ago, we stumbled upon this dragon, Firkraag, who manipulated us into killing Ajantis and some other Knights of the Radiant Heart.”

When he evinced no reaction to that, she huffed.

“Ajantis? The paladin who struck down your pet wizard, Semaj?”

“Your pet who killed my pet, I see no reason his name should mean anything to me now.”

_ Please lean down so I can strangle you. _

“Anyway, I couldn't just let something like that go, right? So, we track him down, and when we find him, I ask him why he targeted me for his little mind games.”

“Go on.”

“Well… turns out, it's all your fault.”

That taken aback look again. So fun.

“Pardon? How am I responsible for you being picked on by a dragon?”

“Well, you see, Firkraag once had a run in with some people, and they did a number on him. Left him scarred, which is apparently particularly heinous for a dragon.”

Withdrawing her backup flask, and resting her other hand on her dagger in case he tried to steal this one, she guzzled some of it down before continuing.

“Firkraag explained that when he tried to exact revenge on the one who led the offending party, he discovered he was already dead. Slain by another. So… he decided to make do with me. Even though I hadn't even been born yet when this fight occurred.”

“I still don't understand how any of this is my fault. Or did you just develop a habit of placing the blame on me for every minor irritation or personal dilemma you encounter?”

“Yep, you got me. Look, just 'cause that's what  _ you  _ do with  _ me,  _ doesn't mean  _ I  _ do that with  _ you.  _ Brace yourself, but I'm not as obsessed with you as you are me. It hurts. I know.”

“I see your imagination has run away with you again.”

“Uh huh. So anyway… um… the reason this is all your fault… is… uh… the man who scarred him up, and the reason he felt I was the appropriate target for his vengeance… is… well, it was Gorion.”

A beat of silence. Then another.

_ “You fucking swore you wouldn't laugh, Sarevok!” _

_ Shoulda known not to trust his word. There's a lesson to be learned here, I'm sure. _

Five minutes later, after Ilyrana had finished her back up flask and had spent so long scowling that she feared her face might now be stuck this way, Sarevok finally wiped at his eyes and his laughter began to die down.

“You were pursued by a dragon because Gorion injured his pride, and dented a few scales, and said dragon couldn't kill him because  _ I  _ had already killed him. Gods, I would doubt the authenticity of your story if it weren't so perfect.”

“Go die in a fire.”

“Come now, little one, you had to know I would find this amusing. There's no need to be petty.”

“Says  _ you.” _

“So, I assume this Firkraag held Carsomyr among his treasure hoard, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Entertaining story. Thank you for telling me.”

Ilyrana huffed and turned away, sweeping her eyes over the horizon in search of trouble. 

“Hey, what's that?”

Squinting into the dying sun's last rays, the pair watched a small group of stunted creatures meandering their way toward them.

As they watched with growing bewilderment, a xvart, a goblin, a kobold, and a… rabbit? walked up to them, so lost in a conversation among themselves that they didn't even notice Sarevok and Ilyrana.

“Oh my gods, it's so cute,” Ilyrana whispered, reaching for the smallest of the bunch.

“Oy! Who ya calling cute?” The rabbit replied, offended.

“Huh. The rabbit talks,” Sarevok murmured. “What was in that flask, Ilyrana?”

_ “Rabbit?  _ I'm a chinchilla you overgrown-”

“I don't know what that is but I  _ needs _ it,” Ilyrana all but squealed, reaching again for the creature.

“Hey, lady, just because I'm cute doesn't mean you can start molesting me! I may be a chinchilla, but I'm also a bhaalspawn!”

“Yeah!” The others chorused. “We all are!”

Sarevok and Ilyrana blinked at them, then at each other.

“No. _No fucking way_ _am I related to this rabble!”_ Sarevok snarled.

Ilyrana began to laugh so hard she had to grab onto his arm to stay upright.

“I don't know if I should be amazed or horrified. No one's ever going to believe this,” she gasped, hiccuping.

“Related? Are you um… trying to say that you're bhaalspawn as well?” The goblin asked nervously.

“Hey, can you all do me a favor and come with me to my friends? Please, they have to see this.”

“We ain't going nowhere with no tall siblings!” The kobold squeaked.

“He called me tall,” Ilyrana giggled.

“That's enough, I can't deal with this anymore,” Sarevok growled and withdrew his sword.

Ear splitting shrieks of fear had them both covering their ears, and when it was finally safe to lower their hands, their little brothers were long gone.

“Awww why'd you draw your sword? Now we have no proof that that actually happened!” Ilyrana whined.

“ _ Good.  _ There is no way in the Nine Hells that I am ever going to acknowledge them as kin. If you dare breathe a  _ word  _ of this to anyone, Ilyrana, I will-”

“Are you serious? This is perhaps the funniest thing that has ever happened in the history of funny things. Bhaal, our father, fathered a chinchilla. Think about that for a second.”

“No.”

“And you want to pretend it didn't happen? Nuh uh, no way. This is going in my journal, and I'm telling Haer'Dalis, and writing every other bard I know.”

“I will bring up Firkraag every single day if you do this.”

“That's fucked up.”

“So is you finding this whole situation amusing! We are the greatest among our brethren, Ilyrana! The very existence of that rat, and the others, diminishes our standing in the prophecy. When people read of our tale far in the future, the magnitude of what happened will be lessened by the fact that we walked among rabbits and kobolds!”

“It was a chinchilla. And your ego is beginning to suffocate me.”

“Be thankful that's the only thing suffocating you! Bah, I'm going back. Mark my words, sister, if this gets out, I will remind you of your dragon for the rest of my days!”

She let him go, chuckling to herself as the sounds of his grumbling could be heard well after he departed. 

For the rest of her watch, Ilyrana sat on the ground beneath the tree, scribbling away in her journal, drawing likenesses of the small band of brothers, particularly the chinchilla. After making several copies of the story, she began making her way back to camp so the next person could take over her shift.

As soon as they reached a town, she had some letters to send...


	5. Fate's Design

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I took out the Solar and Pocket Plane, this is the story of Sarevok's resurrection.

**Fate's Design**

 

_Sarevok_

All Sarevok could tell from his surroundings was that they were in a glade. And it was night. The world around him was leached of color; the trees, like washed out sentinels, towered above them in ghostly grays, their leaves white as bone. Drops of muted rain splashed dully onto the forest floor, and even the sounds were wrong. Disjointed and echoing in his ears.

The only color that he could see was the amber of her eyes, shining like twin candles in the fog. Her face, paled from shock at seeing him materialize before her, was almost a stranger's now. After all the years spent in the Abyss, her image constantly rebranded into his mind lest he forget who had sent him there in the first place, he barely recognized the woman in front of him. She was just as mesmerizingly beautiful as before, but that youthful innocence was now absent.

She had just barely left adolescence behind the last he saw her, and though she was still small in stature, there was no trace of the girl he had once hunted. She was grown now, evident by the way she held herself, though her eyes seemed older still. There was a hardness to her now, an almost ancient sort of weariness, and a feral cunning that seemed familiar to him, despite how evolved it had become.

“You're not real,” she whispered to herself, rubbing her hands over her face, her shoulders slumping, as if his sudden reappearance had happened so often that it was an annoyance.

Or perhaps he wasn't the first of her ghosts to visit her.

“I am _very_ real, Ilyrana. Look at me.”

Well, as real as he could be in his current state. There had been just enough of his consciousness returned to him when she'd summoned him forth in Hell. Just enough to strengthen him, allowing him to follow her out of torment, as far as he could go, and reach out to her. Something about this place she had come to, some deep power in this wooded glen, had given him shape and voice.

“Go away,” she grumbled, digging her knuckles into her eyes before drawing her hands away from her face and blinking rapidly to clear her vision.

When she saw that he was still there, she let out a long, drawn out sigh of irritation.

“I have a proposition for you, sister.”

“I'm not your sister!” She spat, swords appearing in her hands faster than his eyes could follow.

Indeed, she had grown.

“I don't know how long I have here, so you must listen to me!” He snarled, reigning in his temper as best he could, trying not to provoke her further, and hating that he had to be prepared to beg her for what he so desperately wanted.

“I don't negotiate with phantoms, especially ones I created _with good reason!”_

“Yes, you had every reason to kill me, as I left you little choice. We were fated to fight, and as much as it angers me to admit, fate did not choose me as its champion. Now, hear me out, Ilyrana, I can help you.”

“Help me?” She laughed incredulously. “What could you possibly offer me? And why in the world would I ever accept anything from you?”

“I have information that you require. About the Prophecy. I can tell you where your destiny lies and what you may have to face once you get there. Accept my aid and you won't have to stumble along blindly while others navigate already well-mapped out avenues.”

“I've managed just fine without you,” she said, though her haunted look said otherwise. “I don't need you.”

“Ilyrana, every second you spend in the dark, the rest of our siblings gather power around them and move into position to cut you down with very little effort. You are vulnerable without my knowledge!”

“What does that matter to you? I would think you'd enjoy the thought of me losing.”

“No, little one, I no longer wish for that. You defeated me, and so you have earned my respect. I would see you triumph above the others, as they are not as deserving.”

She snorted and shook her head as if his attempts at flattering her ego were not only transparent, but futile.

“And what do you want in return? We both know you're not offering me help out of the kindness of your heart.”

“What else? I wish to live again, my sister. My divinity and my ambitions died with me, you no longer have anything to fear from me.”

“You seem to have forgotten that I'm no cleric. I can't bring you back even if I wanted to. And I don't want to.”

“A fragment of your soul, Ilyrana, along with just a shred of our father’s taint, will be enough. So small you won't notice its absence, I assure you.”

Her hands tightened around the hilts of her swords and a wild sort of fury burned in her eyes, making them glow in a way not unlike his own once did.

“Everything you did to me. Everything you _took_ from me. Everything you put me through. And you ask for part of my _soul?!_ After I just-” She stopped, struggling with her anger, and something like grief swam to the surface before getting dragged back down by the undertow of her rage. “I would balk at this even if someone close to me were to ask. But _you?!_ Forget it. Go back to Hell.”

Ilyrana turned around and disappeared into the mist slowly beginning to creep through the undergrowth.

 

* * *

 

 

_Ilyrana_

After stomping away from Sarevok's shade, Ilyrana had retreated to the edge of the forest, stopping just short of re-entering Suldanessellar. Sagging against a tree, she was surprised to discover she was shaking.

She was tired, the fatigue of climbing out of Hell, returning to her body, only to find it had been dying in the absence of her soul and self, had taken a toll. Even now, months later, she still hadn't quite recovered her stamina.

Her weariness wasn't the only cause behind the shakes, though. It was seeing Sarevok again. Hearing his voice after all these years, when she'd thought she'd silenced him for good, had rocked her to her core.

She knew she'd confronted him again in Hell, but the memories of being there, of seeing and hearing and smelling and feeling that horrible plane, were foggy in her mind. It was as if it had happened decades ago, rather than months. Which was just fine with her.

Leaning heavily against the tree, Ilyrana spent over an hour going over their brief conversation inside her head; inserting comments she'd wished she'd come up with on the spot and liberally dousing each of her sentences with more profanity.

In short, bringing him back was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Whatever information he had couldn't possibly be worth letting him loose again. And not just because of whatever carnage he'd unleash on the realm in pursuit of whatever power he could get his hands on. But because bringing back a slain foe, and having to look for one more face in the crowd when she glanced over her shoulder in the future, was stupid. Just stupid.

_And yet here I am. When the Bard's sing of me, fifty years from now, they'll sing of Ilyrana the Idiotic. Rana the Ruiner. Or whatever clever trailing name they'll come up with. Regardless, it won't be flattering in terms of my intelligence._

What had pulled her back, just as the dawn's rays began saturating the horizon, to the spot where he'd appeared, was the memory of another time they'd stood together beneath towering trees. A memory or a dream, sometimes she wasn't sure which. But there was a feeling, like nostalgia almost, that permeated this place. And it was because of him.

“Did you change your mind?” His voice intoned, with far less volume this time, from just behind her, despite it sounding far away.

Whirling around, her blades in hand, she had to squint to make him out. As the morning grew stronger, his ghostly shape appeared weaker.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, “Time is running out, Ilyrana. If it eases your wariness, I vow I will not harm you.”

“For how long?”

“Forever, if you wish it,” he replied, his jaw clenched as if the thought of not killing her was physically painful to him. “I am prepared to do whatever it takes to draw breath once more. _But I'm running out of time.”_

“As if I could trust a promise from you,” she sneered.

“This place,” he said, gesturing to the now silent stones around them, “is steeped in power. Ask me never to raise a hand against you again and I will vow it. I will mean it. A gaes, in short. I'm not trying to deceive you, Ilyrana. I want only to live again.”

Just hearing the word “gaes” made her stomach churn. As tempting as it was to neuter him like that, all she had to do was think of Yoshimo's last moments and that momentary giddiness was gone.

“Can you swear that the information you have is worth a sacrifice like my _soul?”_

“I can. I do. But I need only a piece, not the entire thing.”

 _Not the entire thing he says,_ Rana thought dryly.

Maybe he was right and she wouldn't even notice just a little bit missing. Or maybe she wouldn't notice _right away._ What if she began to feel its absence as time went on? Could she ever take it back? If he died, would it return to her? Or will it become a part of Sarevok, fusing with his personality so that it no longer carried a part of her?

Too many thoughts and questions and not enough time. Too much risk.

“Ilyrana… please.”

Her hand shot out towards him, her body responding to the plea before it could ever register in her mind, her sword falling to the forest floor as she reached for him. Shutting her eyes, she braced herself, anticipating that horrible tearing feeling that she'd felt when Irenicus extracted her soul.

Heat flared up her extended arm, burning hottest where he gripped her, and quickly spread throughout her body, scalding every fiber of her being, as if she'd been doused with acid. 

It lasted for only a heartbeat.

It lasted for an eternity.

* * *

 

 

"What happened after I fell? What became of the city?”

Glancing over at him, relieved that her thoughts of what had transpired earlier had been interrupted, and then immediately annoyed that it was _him_ making her feel relief about something _he_ caused, she noted the way his gaze roamed across their surroundings. On the surface, it appeared as simple observance, but she noticed the way his eyes lingered on the sunlight dappling the forest floor, the creeping vines that enshrouded a passing tree, the dew glinting on budding flowers.

She'd never point it out, and he'd likely never admit to it, but she strongly suspected he was taking in the forest and it's subtle, quiet beauty. And while she itched to ask him about Hell, and the more curious aspect of her elven nature burned to know what it felt like to walk amongst the living again, to savor the sight and smell and sound of being here, she much preferred to ignore any signs that he wasn't a cold, callous, power hungry killing machine.

“You mean after the celebrations died down? I'm not sure, really; I didn't linger long after our fight. There was talk of a crusade, some woman gathering people together to assault Dragonspear, and refugees had just begun to trickle into the city, but I didn't stick around to get recruited.”

She couldn't resist the jab about how raucously the news of his demise had been received by the city. It was petty, but Rana was just now beginning to realize how good it might feel to take every single small bit of revenge for the things he'd done. Long ago and recently. She couldn't be sure yet, but she was nearly positive that he'd taken more than just a shred of her soul.

It wasn't like what Irenicus had done. There hadn't been that awful tearing feeling followed swiftly by a yawning hollowness. It felt sort of like she'd been holding onto a skin of wine- no, two skins- and he'd simply taken one of them. She was fine with just the one she had left, but the knowledge that he held one that was hers, and she knew exactly where it was, could practically feel it from several yards away, scratched at the back of her mind.

“What of my followers? Did you put them to the sword or did they escape or surrender?”

This was a question that strayed too near to the possibility of him having feelings or being able to express remorse.

“The Flaming Fist routed out all the ones they could find. A few put up a fight when cornered, others made it out I'm sure. As I said, I didn't stick around for long. I'm surprised you care enough to ask.”

“Bold of you to assume it's concern I'm expressing and not a desire to know if my followers are alive and can be contacted to rally around me once more.”

The corners of Ilyrana's mouth twitched upwards, fighting to smile at his response.

_That's more like it. There's the Sarevok I know and hate._

They continued on in silence for awhile, slowly making their way to the meeting spot Ilyrana had set up months ago to reunite with her companions. They'd all needed a break after Irenicus. Some more than others.

“How long has it been?”

“Huh? Since what?”

“Since I died.”

“Oh. Um… two years? Maybe a little longer?”

She had to stop herself from making an utter fool of herself by asking him what day it was.

_Hey bro, you didn't happen to check the calendar down in Hell before you popped up here did you? Are there calendars in Hell? Wait, what month even is it?_

Being on the road a lot meant Ilyrana had long since given up trying to remember what day it was, or even the month. She didn't have a birthday to keep track of, and there were few holidays she cared about, so she largely never paid attention to the passage of time.

“And what have you been doing with yourself these past two years or more?”

“It's a long story.”

“I should certainly hope so.”

Ilyrana snorted and tried to think of how best to explain everything. In the end, she gave him the story about Irenicus, but left out a lot of the details. She glazed over the torture and experimentation, completely omitted the viler things he'd done to her, and only briefly touched on the things that didn't directly involve the hunt for revenge and Imoen.

“Why did he take the girl? If it was a bhaalspawn’s soul he wanted, why target Imoen as well? Or was she merely bait to draw you out, in case vengeance wasn't enticing enough.”

_Oh, this is going to be oodles of fun._

“Guess now would be a good time to tell you that you have another sister. Surprise! Imoen is a bhaalspawn, too.”

Sarevok stumbled. Actually _stumbled._

 _“What?!_ You're jesting.”

“Nope! She's one of us. At least kind of. Death isn't permanent for her like it is for you and me.”

“Like it _was_ for me,” he corrected. “I'm not a bhaalspawn anymore. And you can't be sure it's permanent for _you_ either. For all we know, it's different for each of us.”

“Is this your way of hinting that we should test it out and I die for experimental purposes?”

“You suggested it, not I.”

_Having him around is going to be entertaining if nothing else._

“I'm surprised you agreed to me being here. When I asked to join you, I never expected you'd say yes.”

_That makes two of us._

Her response to him asking to tag along had been profound. Profound here meaning that her mouth had fallen open and she'd stared at him for a few seconds in stunned silence before her brain could restart.

He'd offered that gaes again, and _his_ response to her refusing it had been equally profound. She'd agreed because she needed someone with his skills. At least, that's what she told herself and planned on telling the others when they inevitably shouted that question at her.

Deep down though, the answer had nothing to do with his tactical mind and unmatched might on the battlefield. It had everything to do with the memories. Those beautiful, painful, almost unbelievable memories of their time together as children. Did he remember? Was there anything left of that boy inside him? Or had Rieltar and the taint destroyed the good that had once been there?

The possibility that even just an echo of that boy was still there, buried somewhere deep undoubtedly, had prevented her from turning him away.

“And without a gaes, too-”

“I'm banking on your morbid fascination with the prophecy in general and with me in particular to keep you in line. I'm sure watching from the side lines would be intolerable, at least if you're in the thick of things, you can pretend this is all still about you.”

That had come out a mite harsher than she'd intended, but she didn't want him thinking too much about her reasoning for bringing him along. It tied back to her desire for him to stay well within the cage of his own making, the one where he was an irredeemable asshole. The fact that this desire directly contradicted her need to know if there was anything decent still inside him was not lost on her. She just chose to ignore it.

“I see,” he replied, and to her relief, he didn't press for more.

Glancing up at him, she saw uncertainty and a marked perplexity on his face before it smoothed back to default scowl.

He hasn't had much time to scheme, she realized. There had been a chance to contact her and he took it. A roll of the dice of whether or not she'd bargain with part of her soul. A shot in the dark she'd allow him to join her. While he was grappling with the reality of his resurrection, he had to grapple with her not reacting in the ways he expected her to. A man who spent years planning for every possible obstacle was now thrown into a situation where he had no time to prepare his next move, and he now had to contend with _her._ Not as an enemy this time. But an ally.

Any other person would be having some sort of fit right about now, gods know she would be, but he walked as if the world should be wary of him, not the other way around. Those burnished gold eyes flicking to every shadow and stone along his path.

 _He's kind of beautiful,_ she caught herself thinking. _And I've been too long among willowy elven men if I seriously just thought that._

Putting his personality and deeply ingrained flaws aside, he _was_ striking. Taller than most men, with the kind of muscle that you'd expect in a frontline fighter of his calibur, and dark bronze skin riddled with battle scars and tattoos, he was hard not to appreciate aesthetically. Even the way he moved was alluring. Someone his size should make more noise when he walked, but he made his way through the undergrowth with an almost feline grace, completely confident that each step he took would not falter.

“Are we almost there?” He grated, batting a swath of vines aside.

“Uh, yeah. A few more minutes.”

“Have you an extra weapon somewhere on you?”

“Yeah, I keep an extra greatsword hidden in my unmentionables, you know, in case someone needs one. You honestly think I'm going to arm you against my friends?”

“Afraid I might kill them?”

“I'm actually tempted to see that, really. You, stripped of much of your power, against a couple archmages, an archdruid, a paladin, a few clerics, a veteran ranger, and gods only know who else decided to show up.”

“If they are so formidable, why will you not allow me a sword? I obviously pose little threat,” he purred maliciously, likely annoyed by her jab at his power being diminished.

“Because my biggest concern at the moment is that some of them will take one look at you and begin hurling spells or brandishing weapons. If you're unarmed, I have a better chance of preventing that, since you won't look quite so intimidating. Though, if you wanna help me in that area, you could lose the armor.”

His old plate, scuffed but otherwise intact, save for one slit in the torso area, would immediately give him away to Jaheira and Imoen, the two she worried most about.

“If you wished to get a better look at me, little one, you should have just asked. At least you wouldn't have had to spend so much time pretending not to stare during the entirety of this trek.”

“Trust me, Sarevok, if I wanted you, you'd know,” she quipped, not at all caring that he'd caught her looking at him.

The only reason he was aware of it, after all, was because he had also been watching her.

“Just let me do the talking,” she sighed. “If it looks like things are gonna get outta hand, hide behind a tree or something.”

“You must be joking.”

“Well fine, stand there and die, that's cool, too,” she shrugged, and quickened her pace to get ahead of him.

Catching a glimpse of her companions in a glade up ahead, she took a deep breath to steel her nerves against this little reunion.

“You are their leader,” Sarevok spoke from just behind her. “Make them obey your will or cast them aside.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. “They're all bigger than me.”

“And yet you are the daughter of a god.”

“I think you're going to be surprised by how much that doesn't matter when it comes to these guys. Now, are you ready to meet the entirety of our dysfunctional little family?”

 _“Your_ dysfunctional little family.”

Ilyrana stopped to grin up at him.

“Oh, Sarevok. You're a part of the group now, remember? That means, whether you like it or not, you're now a member of this band of misfits. _My_ band of misfits. Last chance to change your mind and go off to conquer cities and lay waste to stuff or whatever it is you do for fun.”

He glared down at her for a moment, but when she met his gaze and didn't flinch, it was he who looked away first.

“Let's get this over with,” he growled, resigning himself to his fate.

Ilyrana nodded, annoyed by the flicker of relief she felt that he wasn't going to run away, and began following the voices of her friends.

 _Please, gods, if any of you can hear me… please don't let my sister be_ **_too_ ** _upset about this._


End file.
